Beloved
by lionesseyes13
Summary: Kalasin never promised to make Kaddar's life easy, and the courtly love and betrayal that dominates the Carthaki palace promises to make life easy for nobody. Being written for the February Challenge at TPE.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is being written for the February Challenge over at the Tamora Pierce Writing Experiment Forum, and is based upon the story of Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. I will try to keep Kalasin and Kaddar as in character as possible and events as in canon as possible, while also remaining true to the ethos of courtly love and betrayal that defines the tale of Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot.

Please be aware that this story will contain adultery, contraceptive/abortifcent potion, and references to suicide, so if reading about any of those topics will cause you excessive stress, hit the back button on your screen now.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to Tamora Pierce or folklore.

_First Sight_

"_**But I say to you whosoever shall look upon a woman to lust after her hath already committed adultery with her in his heart."—Matthew 5:28.**_

The midday sun was burning into Kaddar's (he refused to become the sort of ruler who constantly thought of himself with one of his many titles; it was enough to hear them constantly pouring from everybody's lips) eyes as, once again, he waited under a pavilion that did little to diminish the fierce rays of sun to greet a Tortallan girl.

His best friend Rijaal, who had studied with him and stayed beside him throughout his years at the university, seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he stepped closer to Kaddar's golden throne to whisper, "Times _sure _change, don't they? A few years ago you were broiling in the sun awaiting the madwoman who would jump into crocodile-infested waters to rescue a marmoset and who would destroy our palace with dinosaur skeletons. Now you are waiting for the woman mad enough to agree to be your wife."

"We all had a part to play in our palace's destruction, and my dearly departed uncle had the biggest role, as befits his megalomania." Kaddar offered a slight smile poised between wry amusement and vinegar bitterness. As if to wash out the taste of the latter from his mouth, he took a sip from the ruby-encrusted golden goblet of spiced wine resting on his throne. "Anyway, it's a madwoman who wouldn't want to marry me, so the fact that Princess Kalasin is coming to be wed to me is no strong argument for or against her wits."

"If you say so, Your Imperial Majesty," replied Rijaal in the condescending tone he adopted whenever he was humoring Kaddar. "I, however, would have suggested that any woman who would marry you has lost any wits she once possessed."

"You're just jealous of my future marital happiness," Kaddar countered in a voice soft enough that the surrounding courtiers and officials could not overhear. "We'll have to find you a woman, because you've been a bachelor for too long."

"Says the man who is only going to meet his wife today." Rijaal snorted. "Anyway, if Your Imperial Majesty intends to find me a woman, you should know that I have very high standards. She must be intelligent, or it wouldn't be fun to outsmart her. She must be graceful, or I couldn't dance, walk, or ride with her. She must be beautiful, or I wouldn't look upon her. She must be a musician or singer, or I couldn't abide listening to her. She must be virtuous, or else I would never stoop to profane her. Find me a woman with all those qualities, and I won't care what color her hair or skin is."

"I'll organize a search through all of Carthak, and we'll find just such a woman for you, no matter how hard she tries to hide herself." Kaddar chuckled quietly, but before Rijaal could respond, Kaddar's mother Fazia, garbed from head to toe in purple silk, glided over to the throne.

"Move aside, young buffoon," she ordered, tapping Rijaal sharply on the elbow with her fan. "I wish to speak with my son, His Imperial Majesty."

"Of course, Princess and Revered Mother of His Imperial Majesty." After a bow that balanced precariously on the line between comical and insolent, Rijaal sauntered off to inflict his tongue upon other members of Princess Kalasin's welcoming committee.

"That man is insufferable," said Fazia merrily, as if she were issuing a compliment instead of an insult, so that anyone who overheard her tone but not her words would be misled. As she spoke, she spread out her fan, which was decorated with lavender blossoms, so that nobody could read her lips. These, Kaddar knew, were two of the millions of tricks his mother had learned during her desperate struggle to keep herself and her son alive in a country where assassination was as brutal a reality as the oppressive opulence and heat. "I don't know why you keep him as a friend."

"Because he makes me laugh and think, Revered Mother," Kaddar told her bluntly. "Because he is an honest man, and he would die for me. A friend like him is worth a hundred sycophants."

"I don't understand male friendships." His mother's blackberry eyes narrowed, so that the lilac paint she had dusted her eyelids with was all the more noticeable. "Female friendships are filled with laughter, gossip, and backstabbing, but male friendships are filled with so much serious and playful dueling that I can scarce tell the difference."

"That's as good a description of male friendships as any, Revered Mother," Kaddar answered, deadpan.

"Humph." Fazia's fan fluttered in a way that suggested she would have enjoyed rapping him over the head with it if he wasn't the emperor. "I haven't come over here to chide you for your poor choice in friends."

"What a relief, Revered Mother." Kaddar smirked, but the words had barely emerged from his mouth when he felt his mother wrap him in a swift hug and a vial of something slide smoothly into his pocket before she pulled away.

Wearing a grin reminiscent of an indulgent mother on a son's wedding day, she hissed under her breath, "In that bottle is an herbal mixture from a trusted mage. If you ever catch your wife being unfaithful to you—as women of noble birth are far too used to doing—make her drink it. It will destroy any life that takes to her womb within a few days of the time that she has been unfaithful to you. That way you can be sure that you aren't raising another man's son as your heir."

"It's not poison?" he asked, even though the bracelet that alerted him to poison hadn't reacted to the vial, keeping his face blank and his tone light.

"Of course not, dear." His mother waved her fan dismissively, so that the flowers on it appeared to blow in a gentle wind. "A dead wife would ruin all the political contacts with Tortall that were the point of this marriage, and we can trust the mage who made this potion. He's the same one who made your bracelet."

"Very well." Kaddar nodded, and devoted himself to trying to forget about the bottle weighing heavily in his pocket with its nasty implication of his becoming a cuckold. He was a handsome, wealthy, reasonably intelligent, and quite powerful man. No wife in her right mind would ever commit adultery against him and risk him dissolving their marriage, sending her home in disgrace. His mother, he decided, was as paranoid as his uncle had been. "I'll hold onto it and use it if necessary."

"Wonderful." Briskly, Fazia snapped her fan shut. "Be all smiles with Princess Kalasin. You must not let her know, unless she betrays you, that you suspect her of being as weak and inconstant as most women are, and that, as with all people, you don't trust her as far as you can throw her in a monsoon. She'll be less likely to conceive if she doesn't feel a rapport with you."

"I want a happy, respectful marriage for more reasons than that, Revered Mother," Kaddar commented dryly, "but will you ever stop scheming?"

"No, son, I won't stop scheming until I die, but I do all my plotting on your behalf, remember." Curtsying, she spun away from him in a twirl of purple.

She had barely left his side when Rijaal returned, saying, "I assume you'll want me next to in order to provide honest commentary about your bride."

"That would be nice," Kaddar murmured. "I know that you are never motivated by pity or manners when evaluating the fairer sex."

At that moment, the Tortallan ship, bearing Kalasin and much of her dowry, finally sailed up to the dock. For the next few minutes, regulated chaos dominated the wharf, as seamen tied the boat to the dock, and then the gangplank was finally lowered with a bang that echoed over the heads of the assembled lords and ladies.

A young woman who could only be described as stunningly beautiful stepped onto the gangplank. Her hair, black as a raven's wing, was twisted in an elegant knot at the top of her head, and several wisps curled around her ears. Bluebird satin emphasized her piercing azure eyes, and a robin blush brought color to her pale, porcelain skin. Smiling graciously so that her white teeth glistened in the bright sunlight, she walked, head held high, down the ramp.

"Well, she isn't as hideous as a kraken, but she's nowhere near as attractive as her mother is rumored to be," remarked Rijaal, but his almost breathless tone made Kaddar think that Rijaal, who had never told a lie in his life, had finally spoken a falsehood.

Kaddar could sympathize. After all, looking at Princess Kalasin made him feel rather short of air and wobbly-kneed himself. Even though he had seen the oldest Tortallan princess in a portrait shipped to him during the marriage negotiations, no artist could ever hope to accurately reproduce the exact curve of her lips when she smiled, the precise glimmer in her eyes, or the way her hair fell about her head. Nor could any artist hope to convey the reality of what it was like to watch her stride gracefully when portraits were only meant to establish the illusion of beauty and motion.

"His Most Serene and Imperial Majesty, Kaddar Gazanoi Illiniat, Emperor of Carthak," shouted the herald stationed nearest Kaddar, thumping the deck impressively with his staff. "Her Royal Highness, Kalasin of Conte, Princess of Tortall."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Your Imperial Majesty." Princess Kalasin swept into a curtsy that was just the proper degree for a princess greeting an emperor.

"The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness." Gently, Kaddar took her hand and kissed it, gazing into her eyes, and feeling not so much love at first sight, but the hope and promise of love at first sight. "No portrait could have done justice to your beauty."

"And no portrait could have effectively reproduced your handsomeness." Inclining her head politely, the princess returned the compliment in a lilting voice. "I thank you for the volumes of Carthaki poetry you sent me in recent months. They were quite touching, Your Majesty."

"I'm glad that you enjoyed them, Your Highness." Kaddar decided not to mention that his mother had been the one making the poetry selections to ship to Kalasin as betrothal gifts. Clearing his throat, he rose from his throne. After linking his arm in hers, he escorted her to a procession of horses waiting at the far end of the dock, explaining as the various dignitaries trailed behind them in a sea of satins and silks, "We'll be riding back to the palace today. It should take less than half a day, but it will give people in the city and the surrounding country a chance to wave and cheer at you in welcome. Tomorrow, dear lady, we'll have our beautiful wedding in the Mithran temple, which has been mostly restored to its former glory after my uncle regime of neglecting the gods."

As he extended a hand to help her onto her camel, he added, "If you would prefer to ride a palfrey, we have one for you."

"I can ride a camel just fine, thank you, Your Majesty." Without accepting his hand, Kalasin swung onto the saddle, where she arranged her skirts and reins as though she had been riding camels all her life. "I've been practicing on the one you sent to my parents as a token of good will between Carthak and Tortall."

"Of course, Your Highness." Trying to conceal how wrong-footed he felt at having a bride who mounted a camel without assistance in public instead of accepting a helpful hand from her fiancé, Kaddar climbed onto his own camel. He was no stranger to strong woman, since his own mother was as tough as a Stormwing, but he still couldn't wrap his mind around the average Tortallan female's lack of manners and tendency to be aggravated by basic acts of chivalry. Daine, he remembered, had gotten all persnickety with him when he tried to save her the humiliation of attempting to shoot with a bow that should have been too big for her. Tortallan women probably also thought that they should hold doors open for men instead of men holding open doors for them. Deciding that now wasn't the time to detail the basics of Carthaki etiquette to his apparently independent-minded wife, he smiled at her as the entourage behind them mounted their camels. "What poems did you find particularly moving?"

"Jecha's poem to his wife was very touching," Kalasin responded, her lips quirking, as the procession moved down the cobbled street away from the dock. "It was really powerful and original when he compared his wife's skin to roses, her lips to coral, and her eyes to jet."

"About as original as when flatterers tell you that your eyes are as blue as the summer sky, I imagine," Kaddar observed. "The Carthaki court loves repetitive redundancies and hackneyed clichés. People here believe such styles of speaking and writing make them appear honest and wise, rather than insincere and foolish."

"Thank you for your kind warning." Kalasin's nose wrinkled in a way that somehow didn't make her any less gorgeous. "I will admit that I didn't find the poetry books very touching at all."

"And I'll admit that my mother picked them out," Kaddar replied. "What, my dear lady, would you have preferred to read?"

"Books about all the Carthaki animals and plants." Kalasin's eyes sparkled at him. "Daine told me about the hyenas, monkeys, and crocodiles, which all sounded so interesting. I always wanted to see them, and I look forward to having the chance to do so now that I'm here."

"In the future, I'll be sure to bore you about the anatomy of plants and animals," he told her, grinning. "I'll have to take you over to the university soon, too, so that you can see the research the masters are doing on the relations between animals, plants, and humans. If you are interested in animals or plants, their research is truly fascinating."

"I enjoy visiting learning institutions." Kalasin drew herself up proudly. "My mother and father take education very seriously. That is why they have set up schools for the commoner children."

"In Carthak, Your Highness, people will need to be freed before they can be educated," Kaddar informed her crisply, wondering if she was already planning a thousand expensive reforms copied from her insanely progressive parents. Perhaps the northern nobles thought that he was too progressive, but, compared to King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, he was very moderate if not extremely conservative. "People need to be able to walk before they can be asked to run."

"I was talking about Tortall and my parents' policies." Kalasin shot him a sidelong glance. "Not about Carthak and what I hope our policies will be."

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that Carthaki empresses determined policies, not fashions, but, remembering that empresses had always influenced politics from the bedroom if not from the throne room, he decided to remain silent for the sake of their not-yet-begun marriage.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This chapter and all future chapters will be from Kalasin's point of view. I apologize for changing perspectives, but it was necessary to write from Kaddar's view at first to establish his relationship with Rijaal and to describe Kalasin's budding relationship with Rijaal (and Kaddar) it is better to work from her viewpoint. Hopefully, nobody will be too disoriented about the shift.

"_**A diligent woman is a crown to her husband, and she that doth things worthy of disgrace is a rottenness in his bones."—Proverbs 12:4, Douay-Rheims Bible. **_

_Tied Together_

"It's odd to think that you're here marrying the emperor," commented Lady Lucia of King's Reach, a plump, pockmarked middle-aged woman who had agreed to accompany Princess Kalasin to Carthak in the desperate hope of finally finding a husband among the Carthaki nobles. Brushing out the raven black hair Kalasin was wearing down her back like a shimmering sheet as though determined to enhance the shine or remove one more non-existent knot, Lady Lucia went on, "You may not remember, my dear, since you were probably only knee-high to a grasshopper, but it was the former Emperor Ozorne's insistence that you be betrothed to his nephew and your father's adamant refusal to do so that caused the diplomatic breakdown between Tortall and Carthak."

"It was Carthak's attack on Pirate's Swoop that caused the fallout between Tortall and Carthak," Kalasin countered tersely, as her lady-in-waiting straightened every invisible wrinkle out of her white silk dress, adjusted the silver band laden with glistening diamonds that rested like a butterfly on Kalasin's head, and slid a pale veil under the band, obscuring Kalasin's face and vision. "I was old enough to remember that, and I was there when it happened."

"Of course, love," answered Lady Lucia, wrapping her elbow around Kalasin's and guiding the princess out of the women's vestry into the entrance that fed into the main nave of the cathedral. "But you see how it makes all the tension that created between Carthak and Tortall look pointless when you marry Kaddar like this."

"Ozorne, if Daine was telling the truth and I see no reason for her to lie, was plotting against his nephew as much as he was against Tortall," Kalasin whispered, as they waited for the music that was their cue to process down the nave to begin. "There would have been no marriage between us, and, anyway, my father would never have married me off without my consent. I'm here by choice, Lady Lucia, so it's not pointless, because choice is all the meaning there is."

"If you say so, honey," muttered Lady Lucia, as Kalasin wondered why the organist couldn't begin the music this instant. "But sometimes I ask myself if choice really is enough."

"It has to be enough." Biting her lip even though she was aware that her makeup ensured that she didn't need to redden her lips any further, Kalasin stared down the cathedral, filled with bejeweled nobles decked out in ostentatious fabrics crowded into pews, and squinted at the barely discernible dark figures of Kaddar and his best friend, Rijaal. "Somehow, it has to be enough to hold us together for a lifetime."

"Don't be silly, darling," trilled Lady Lucia, as the music finally swelled, and they started down the nave after the third note. "It's tender touches in the wee hours that are supposed to be strong enough to tie you together for a lifetime."

"As if you would know two beans about it when you're an old spinster." Kalasin smiled, and remembered to walk down the nave as if nobody was watching and waiting for her to misstep—gracefully and calmly, as if she had not a fear in the world and not a worry in sight even when her knees were trembling with nerves.

She barely knew the man she was about to marry—no polite letters and fancy gifts could conceal that bitter truth—and that was terrifying. Having to promise before all these witnesses, whom she also didn't know but was expected to embrace as her own people, to love, to honor, and to obey a stranger was the scariest thing she had ever done, but she was a princess of Tortall.

She knew her duty, and she would do it without flinching or whimpering. Smiling gaily, she would glide to the altar where she would willingly sacrifice herself for her people—whoever they were supposed to be now. She would keep her head erect, so that her veil and her hair fell perfectly, and she would not trip over her gown or her feet.

After a procession down the nave that was simultaneously too long and too short, she and Lucia reached the altar. As Lucia moved to stand behind her, Kalasin thought she saw Kaddar flash her a quick grin, but she couldn't be certain when the blasted veil covered her eyes.

Before Kalasin could give into the temptation to rip off her veil, the Mithran priest, garbed in the simple red robes of his order and his bald pate gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass depiction of Mithros, began to speak, his voice booming over the congregation, "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Princess Kalasin of Tortall and Emperor Kaddar of Carthak. It is hoped that peace will prevail between them and their countries. If any here know a reason to prevent their joining, I charge him to speak now or forever hold his peace."

Silence reigned in the cathedral. No murmur or rustle of cloth echoed off the statues and stained glass. Even Fazia, Kaddar's sour mother, kept her mouth closed for once. It was all so surreal that Kalasin could barely even think of the fact that she and Kaddar hardly knew one another as an impediment to their marriage.

"Do you, Kaddar Gazanoi Illiniat, before Mithros and all these witnesses take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to honor until death do you part?" asked the priest after a sufficient pause, turning to regard the emperor.

"I do," Kaddar declared firmly, looking into Kalasin's eyes as deeply as he could through her veil.

With a rustle of silk, Rijaal stepped forward and proffered a golden ring sparkling with sapphires to the emperor. Accepting the ring with a nod of thanks, Kaddar slipped the jewelry onto Kalasin's finger, his hands both strong and soft.

"Where I am emperor, you too are empress," he proclaimed, and, somehow, she felt like the words were more for her benefit than the audience's. She understood that this declaration was a traditional component of a Carthaki wedding—even a peasant's wedding would have included such a vow—but the words seemed to have a special meaning for them that made her spine tingle.

"And do you, Kalasin of Conte, before Mithros and all these witnesses take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to love, to honor, and to obey until death do you part?" the priest demanded, turning to her now.

"I do," Kalasin said, wishing that the words didn't stick in her throat like nails and that she knew if her mother had sworn to obey her father when they were wed.

Lady Lucia held a golden ring encrusted with rubies out to her and she took it. Glad that her hands weren't shaking, she slid the jewelry onto Kaddar's finger, announcing with more confidence than she felt, "Where you are emperor, I too am empress."

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest told Kaddar.

Kalasin's stomach swopped and knotted. She didn't know whether she should be excited or nervous about her impending first kiss, and, before she could decide, Kaddar had folded back her veil and brought his lips to hers.

She couldn't breathe, and her mouth wasn't her own any more. Her lips belonged to Kaddar, whose mouth was pressing firmly against hers. Blood pounded in her ears, and adrenaline throbbed through her veins. Before she could decide whether she liked being kissed, Kaddar had pulled away from her.

Applause and whistles resounded throughout the cathedral. Kaddar beamed and waved at the congregation, but Kalasin's cheeks flamed. The people were cheering because he had claimed her with a kiss. She was nothing more than a gem in his crown to them, and she could tell by the way that he smiled and waved that he, too, saw her as just another beautiful possession. He might treat her gently and honorably, but he would never let her be his partner in any meaningful sense of the word.

Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them rising. Squeezing her hand, Kaddar leaned close to whisper in her ear, obviously misreading the moisture in her eyes as joy rather than pain and the blush on her cheeks as modesty rather than humiliation, "I love you, too, my lady, and I'm overjoyed that we are married."

As rice—meant to bring fortune and fertility to a couple—poured around their heads as the people began showering them in grain, Kaddar added, "My mother wishes to speak with me, my lady. I probably didn't take the ring from Rijaal with enough grace to satisfy her exacting taste. I'll be back to escort you out once I have humbly accepted my reprimand.

While Kaddar wove a path toward Fazia, whose jabbing fan made it plain that she expected her son to attend upon her immediately, Rijaal remarked in scarcely more than a murmur so that only Kalasin could hear, "Don't worry, fair Empress. Your new husband is a good man. He doesn't beat women or force himself upon slave girls. He loves and honors is mother despite her high irritability factor, and my mother always says that you can tell how a man will treat his wife by looking at how he acts toward his mother, though my mother probably only says that in a futile attempt at making me respect her."

"Will he really want a wife as strong-willed as his mother?" Kalasin couldn't keep the dubiousness out of her tone. From her mother's stories about Adigun jin Wilimia, she knew that not every man wanted a woman who could stand on her own and think for herself.

"I'd say it's too late for what he wants and what you want," responded Rijaal, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk as rice continued to fall in torrents.

"Yes, we're doomed to give each other merry misery for decades," agreed Kalasin, her own lips twitching into a snicker and traitorously wondering how it would feel to brush against the mouth of a man who could tell the difference between her tears of pain and tears of joy.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This chapter contains a scene about Kaddar and Kalasin performing the "marriage act" on their wedding night. I tried to avoid being offensive or too explicit, but the scene still exists because it is necessary, so be warned.

Champions and Fools

"_Love is patient, is kind: love envieth not, dealeth not perversely; is not puffed up; is not ambitious, seeketh not her own, is not provoked to anger, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never falleth away: whether prophecies shall be made void, or tongues shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed." –1 Corinthians 13:4-8, Douay-Rheims Bible. _

It was the beginning of her wedding feast, and, as she and Kaddar sat down in the center of the head table amid tumultuous applause and cheers, she thought that she should have been happy. Golden plates and goblets filled with mulled wine covered the cypress tables, bright mosaics made the walls sparkle, and the air was heady with the scent of jasmine. Only a dim-witted girl would have been unhappy to preside over such a wedding banquet, but Kalasin wasn't in charge, not really, and Fazia, seated on Kalasin's left, seemed determined to prove that.

"Remember," Fazia, leaning forward, hissed in Kalasin's ear, "you and Kaddar are to feed one another the first bites of every course, as is the Carthaki custom for newlyweds. I only hope that you've been taught which utensils to use."

"Yes," Kalasin replied tersely, as a stream of what she hoped were servants and not slaves entered the hall, depositing platters laden with stuffed olives and orange slices soaked in herbs that smelled unbearably foreign first upon the head table and then upon the other tables in order of the ranks of the occupants. "We do have manners in Tortall, too."

"Could have fooled me," observed Fazia waspishly, but Kalasin didn't have time to retort.

She could feel the weight of a hundred sets of eyes on her and Kaddar, waiting for them to take their first bites, so everybody could eat, drink, and be merry. Kaddar extended his fork toward a slab of orange, and she picked up her fork, spearing an olive at the same second the tongs of his fork pierced into the piece of orange.

"Enjoy, my lady," he said, bringing his fork to her lips.

"And you, my lord," she responded, letting her own utensil rest near his mouth.

Together, they guided their forks into each other's mouth. In unison, they chewed the food they had given one another. As one, they swallowed their first bites. Her eyes were locked upon Kaddar's as he ate the olive, and his gaze was fixated upon her. He seemed to be waiting for her reaction, and she still didn't know what it would be.

The orange, marinated in spices strong than she had anticipated, had been sweet, tangy, and spicy. The citrus juice and the spices—none of which she could recognize—had cut into her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Yet, the blend of all the flavors had not been unappealing to her burning palate.

"Your eyes are as wide as the Emerald Ocean, fair lady." Still studying her keenly, Kaddar delicately placed a segment of spiced orange in his mouth. When he finished chewing and swallowing, he asked, "What did you think of the orange?"

"It tasted like Carthak." Kalasin popped an olive in her mouth, and contused when her mouth was empty, "Sweet, spicy, and tangy at once."

"Overwhelming?" Kaddar suggested, his eyes gleaming at her in a way that could have meant he was either testing or teasing her.

"That would be your word, my lord, not mine," she said, because she didn't know what other comment to make. Carthak was overwhelming, but she didn't want to risk offending him on their wedding day by saying so.

"Indeed, it is, because it would be a frightfully dull conversation if I didn't use my own words." Kaddar bit into an olive as black as his eyes. "Go on. Tell me what else Carthak tastes like. Does it taste colorful?"

"Colorful isn't a taste, my lord." Kalasin took a sip of wine from her goblet.

"And the first round of marital discord goes to Empress Tongue rather than Emperor Lack-a-Wit," cut in Rijaal, who was seated on Kaddar's other side, tossing an olive into his mouth with every syllable.

"Marital discord." Kaddar chuckled. "That was hardly an argument, or else I would have made sure to win it. You clearly don't know what the word 'discord' means."

"Why should I?" Now nibbling on a slice of orange, Rijaal blinked in mock astonishment. "I never know the meaning of the words I use. I've found that people find me more comical when I use words I don't understand than when I use words I do understand. People who play the fool are not funny, but people who are really fools are a genuine laugh a second."

"Folly isn't always amusing," Kalasin pointed out before she could stop herself.

"It is when it comes from the emperor's favorite fool, and that's what I am," countered Rijaal, bowing his head to her with affected gravity. "I've been the emperor's best friend for years because I'm his favorite fool."

The attendants Kalasin hoped were not slaves removed the platter of appetizers and replaced it with dishes of smoked salmon decorated in peppers and onions. Again, Kalasin felt a hundred pairs of eyes fix upon her and her new husband.

Once she and Kaddar had served each other, the hall echoed with the sound of renewed laughter, gossip, and jokes, as everyone resumed their conversations and being eating from their own platters.

"You are my favorite champion, Rijaal," Kaddar corrected sternly, but even Kalasin—who barely knew him—could see the gentle light of affection in his eyes. "Not my favorite fool. I count on your loyalty, and, since you, despite your ardent protests on the contrary, are not an idiot, I expect that you will remember that you are supposed to be my champion, not my fool."

"To be your champion, Emperor Lack-a-Wit, is to be your fool." Cheerily, Rijaal munched on a cut of fish. "Only a fool would fight and die for another's sake, and it stands to reason that the champion of Emperor Lack-a-Wit would lack several wits, and be the biggest fool of them all."

"You say crazier things when you're sober than most men do when drunk," Kaddar commented dryly between forkfuls of fish. "Sometimes I wonder if I should get a champion who lets others do the work of insulting me, instead of heaping all the calumnies upon me himself."

"Emperor Lack-a-Wit is using all his remaining wits now to make up for his missing one." Rijaal winked at Kalasin, who felt her stomach twist.

Telling herself that the salmon was disagreeing with her digestive system, she said to Kaddar, "I have to ask. Are the attendants servants or slaves?"

"That depends on what you mean by the term 'slave.'" His features impassive, Kaddar shrugged. "As Sarhaan, the late manservant of my father—may he rest in peace—pointed out when refusing my father's ninth offer of liberty, everybody is a slave to duty and bound by those they love."

"I was looking for a legal, not a philosophical, answer, my lord." Kalasin demonstrated her impatience by stabbing at her salmon with more force than necessary.

"Of course, my dear." Kaddar's lips curled. "Well, first, you must understand how complex Carthaki law and society is. Some slaves never perform anything but menial tasks, while others fight battles and write important letters for their masters. Some slaves are beaten, while others are treated affectionately. Some slaves are given only enough food to prevent them from starving, while others are dressed in silks. Some slaves are believed to be forever on the verge of rebellion, while others are their masters' most trusted companions. The only generalization that can be made about the relationships between slaves and masters in Carthak is that every master will have a different relationship with his slaves."

"And many slaves do not want to be free," Fazia added crisply. "They see serving their masters as their purpose in life, believing that they are doing the gods' will when they work for their owners. They regard freedom as a delusion created by the upper classes when the only reality is duty. That's why Sarhaan, the slave my son mentioned, refused to be freed. He said that liberty was a farce if he would still choose to serve without pay the man he had worked for and with all his life. Sarhaan was legally a slave, but he was as free as anyone when he sacrificed his life in an ultimately futile attempt to save my husband during a revolt in a northern province."

"A Carthaki duke and his personal slave perished side-by-side on a battlefield," Kaddar murmured, his eyes shadowed. "Their blood probably even mingled together."

"Sarhaan," Rijaal said in what for him seemed to be an uncharacteristically serious tone. "The ultimate champion and the greatest fool."

"Sarhaan was so dedicated to your father, Kaddar, because he had been bred to be that faithful from before his birth," Kalasin stated, drinking her wine in a desperate effort to bring some moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. "His choice wasn't really his own."

"Nobody's choice is really his own," Kaddar countered. "We're all what we are raised to be, and, whenever we make a decision, we make it for a million silent ones who stand at our shoulders. That was Sarhaan's point. That's why we can't just free all the slaves at once, Kalasin. It's not just that the nobles and merchants will revolt if we liberate all the slaves, it is also that not all the slaves will want freedom, and those who do will have to be provided with education and funds so as to not be forever dependent on their masters—slaves in everything but name."

Slaves appeared again, placing platter heavy with a meat Kalasin couldn't identify down on the high table. All eyes riveted on Kaddar and Kalasin again.

As she sliced off a potion of the foreign steak, Kalasin said stiffly once she was confident the slaves were out of earshot, unsure whether she was miffed or humiliated, "Slavery makes me uncomfortable, my lord."

"Well," Kaddar remarked, as he finished cutting off a forkful of meat with his knife, "I hope that antelope steak doesn't make you uneasy, too, my lady."

Their forks, loaded with antelope meat, crossed in midair and landed in one another's mouths. As her teeth chomped into the antelope—which had a taste a little like venison but had a tougher texture—Kalasin told herself that she would not vomit or gag. She had known that snails and antelopes were considered Carthaki delicacies for reasons best understood by the trickster god, and she had still chosen to come here. She would have to get used to the weird food without insulting her new countrymen or her own dignity.

"It's quite edible," Kalasin announced, cultivating the air of a meat connoisseur, once she had swallowed. "It has a taste reminiscent of venison, though with a stronger texture."

"Quite edible," repeated Kaddar, chuckling. "I'm starting to worry that we really will never agree on anything. Antelope steaks are my favorite meat course, but I suppose that I should be grateful that you didn't refuse to eat them like Daine did, thereby compelling me not to eat them because of the implacable decrees of the gods of Carthaki etiquette."

"It was horribly uncouth of the girl not to eat the antelope steaks," pronounced Fazia, who, Kalasin was discovering, seemed to have a grievance against everyone and everything. "Really, everybody knows that a guest should never insult his or her host or hostess by refusing to eat any food at a banquet. Everybody also knows that one never forces one's dinner companions not to partake of a dish by not taking so much of as a bite of it oneself, making any who do eat the dish look churlish for distressing you by consuming before you that which you clearly find distasteful."

"Daine had a reason for abstaining, and she explained it to me, Revered Mother," Kaddar pointed out, eating steadily at his antelope steak. "I just wish that she hadn't denied me my favorite course."

"Suspected poisoning is the only reason for not taking at least a bite of food, as you well know, beloved son." Fazia waved her fork to emphasize her argument. Shooting Kalasin a pointed glance, as if to establish that she was only detailing all these protocol rules for the ignorant new empress' benefit, she went on, "Of course, even if one suspects that poisoning, one must never be ungracious. One must simply pretend to take a bite of the food, while actually subtly slipping it into a napkin or handkerchief."

"Poisoning is such a distressing topic," interjected Rijaal, his eyes gleaming as attendants gathered up the empty antelope steak platters and replaced them with dessert dishes piled with thick, warm bread sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar, and honey.

Once Kaddar and Kalasin had fed each other slices of the bread, which was definitely Kalasin's favorite course of the feast, Rijaal continued, helping himself to a piece of bread, "Anyway, my favorite moment with Daine was when she nailed a bull's eye with that bow she shouldn't have been able to pick up, nonetheless aim. Now that was a good joke, that was."

"That was your only moment with Daine." Kaddar's tone suggested that he didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated. "You didn't have to go chasing her through the temple distracts."

"Oh, but what an educational moment it was." The mischievous glitter in Rijaal's eyes was more pronounced than ever. "It really showed how culturally different Carthak and Tortall are. In Tortall, women have to learn how to defend themselves with bows and whatnot, because, apparently, they don't trust Tortallan men to protect them. In Carthak, though, men are ever ready to champion women, and no women feel the need to learn how to protect themselves—at least not physically."

Winking at Kalasin, he added, gesticulating with a piece of dessert with enough enthusiasm to send flecks of sugar and cinnamon flying along the table, "Don't worry, fair Empress. You'll have plenty of handsome young men like me begging to be your champion by this time tomorrow. In Carthak, you will always have a champion to defend your life and your sacred honor."

Kalasin should have been resisting the urge to slap him for his smugness and his assertion that she needed a champion to protect her honor, but, instead, she was struggling against a blush, and her lips were unable to refrain from twisting into a smile.

"Come, come," she chided lightly. "Surely, you are insulting my husband by implying that I need a champion at all."

"Nonsense." Rijaal's grin broadened, his teeth flashing against his amber skin. "To serve the Empress is to serve the Emperor, and to defend the honor of the Empress is to protect the honor of the Emperor. Only the most devoted servants of the Emperor could ever be the Empress' champion."

"The Empress isn't impressed by flowery, nonsensical speeches or chivalric notions of champions," Kaddar informed his friend dryly. "Find a lady who delights in love poetry and make her your damsel in distress."

"Women who delight in love poetry don't delight me," Rijaal explained, snickering. "Women who delight in love poetry are invariably air-headed bores."

Wrapping his arm around Kalasin's elbow, so that she was conscious of the fact that only puffs of silk separated her skin from his, Kaddar said, "Let's retire, my lady, before my mad friend says anything else to heat your blood and jeopardize the peace between our countries."

In a shower of jasmines, rice, and bawdy humor, the nobles of Kaddar's court escorted their emperor and his new wife to the emperor's quarters. Finally, after passing through what felt like miles of hallways carved from gold ceilings, marble pillars, and shiny tiles shaped into mosaics on the walls, they arrived outside Kaddar's rooms.

Kalasin was relieved when the heavy, ornately decorated door to the emperor's chambers shut out the lewdness of the crowd, but, within a moment of staring at the at floor, which was carpeted with pelts from animals Kalasin had only seen in drawings, in order to keep her flaming face averted from her new husband's, she was yearning for the return of the vulgar masses.

"Please make yourself comfortable." Out of courtesy, Kalasin glanced up long enough to see Kaddar gesture toward his bed. Crossing over to a bureau with two silver goblets and a decanter of champagne upon it, he added, "Would you care for a drink, my lady?"

"I would, thank you." As she lay back against the silk blankets and reclined her head against the soft, goose feather pillows, she wished that her voice wasn't quavering. Right now, she wanted to project an aura of calm, because why shouldn't she be composed when Kaddar was the husband she had chosen—albeit from a narrow pool of princes, kings, and emperors?

To her annoyance, her hand trembled, just as her voice had, when she accepted the cup of champagne her husband extended toward her. Obviously, her traitorous body wasn't going to allow her to pretend that she wasn't nervous.

"Don't be scared, my dear," Kaddar said gently, as he slid into the bed beside her.

When Kalasin, her mouth as dry as a drought, convulsively gulped down the champagne laced with what had to be a hundred alien spices, and made no other reply, he continued, taking a sip from his own chalice, "I know it hurts women the first time, but I'll cause you as little pain as possible, I promise, and women take more pleasure in the marriage act the more times they engage in it with their husbands."

"I'll do my duty," Kalasin responded with as much firmness as she could muster, because that was what the duchess of King's Reach had told her to do—lay back and do her duty on her wedding night and all the other nights stretching into infinity that she was with her husband.

She didn't know much about the marriage act, because the duchess had feared that too much knowledge of what went on between bed sheets would make her appear less than virginal, but she had heard that it entailed blood, screams, tears, and pain for women. In that way, she figured, it was like childbirth, and, also, like childbirth, the marriage act was intended to start a relationship with a person she was supposed to be willing to die to protect. Well, she thought bitterly, she would never claim that the Great Mother Goddess didn't have sadistic steak as wide as the Emerald Ocean and a sense of humor as dark as a thunderhead.

"You're beautiful." Kaddar's lips, tasting of spice and champagne, found hers, and, although his mouth was warm and soft, she felt hers freezing and hardening. Her body was instinctively recoiling from anything it understood to presage the act that ended in blood and stabs of agony.

"Relax," whispered Kaddar, his breath hot on her ear as he massaged the knotted muscles in her shoulders. "Tell me about yourself."

"I, urm." Kalasin couldn't believe that she, who had always been regarded as having almost too much personality for propriety was having trouble describing herself to her husband, whom she had always hoped would see her a person, not just a bauble or a fleshy symbol of alliance. Yet who, she wondered angrily, could reduce themselves to a few words. "I have a weakness for chocolates."

"Tell me something _unique_ about yourself." Kaddar's hands slipped downs from her shoulders to enclose her breasts, and Kalasin, reflexively, itched to slap away his squeezing fingers and stroking palms, but she couldn't deny her body to her husband on her wedding night. After all, an unconsummated marriage forged no alliances and might even cause wars. "All women love chocolates and flowers."

"I don't love flowers," Kalasin burst out heatedly, determined to pop Kaddar's conception of her as just another vapid, simpering court lady. "I haven't since I was nine, and my father destroyed all my dreams of being a knight in a rose garden. I haven't liked going for rides with him since then, either, and I used to love riding with him, because he was always around, and Mama was often off doing work with the Riders."

"I used to enjoy riding with my father, too." Kaddar's dark eyes seemed to travel years back in time, as his hands continued to roam over her chest, the sensation causing her nipples to pucker, but, despite her physical arousal, she felt no ripples of delight streaming through her breasts into her heart. She thought that there should be those ripples of delight the first time her chest was touched like this, but maybe ripples of delight only happened when people were in love, and perhaps she would never be torn apart by ripples of delight when the fingers of a man she truly loved roved around her breasts. "Father was an excellent warrior and strategist in addition to being a brilliant politician. My mother would never have settled for a man who was in any way less than her, you know, and my parents were a perfect match for each other in cunning and in willpower. They were one another's partners in every sense of the word, as I hope that we will be."

"So do I," murmured Kalasin, because she could at least give him that, even if she couldn't help but question if Kaddar could ever really see her as his equal and not just the closest thing a wife could be to a partner.

He seemed to draw encouragement from her words, since, once again, his hands dropped lower, tickling her stomach in a manner that made her wish she could pull away from him.

Trying to distract herself from the warm, firm hands that were continuing to drift toward her waist, Kalasin panted, "Tell me more about your father, my lord."

"He had very high expectations of me." For the first time, Kaddar's hands stopped moving, and his jaw tautened. "I felt his ferula—a nasty cypress rod favored by Carthaki fathers and military officers—on my legs, behind, and thighs quite regularly because I failed to meet his exacting standards in the classroom or the practice courts. The only good moments we had were when we rod together, but—" Here, Kaddar appeared to return to himself as his hands resumed their exploration of her body—"that's typical of the relationship between Carthaki fathers and sons. Carthak is a hard, cruel place, and fathers have to prepare their sons to survive—even thrive—here. A ferula is a perfect tool for that task, and that is why it has been in style for centuries, when most accessories are out of fashion in a year or two."

"That's sick," muttered Kalasin, promising that if the pain she had yet to endure resulted in a child, that child would never be beaten no matter what vicious Carthaki custom dictated on the contrary, and Kaddar could ferula himself if he had a problem with that.

Kaddar's right hand had slid into the triangle between her legs. She gasped at the shock of his finger probing and prodding the folds that nobody had ever touched and that she had only vaguely imagined a husband making contact with. His fingers pushed deeper inside her, and she thought that she should have felt pain, but instead she only felt an aching—not for him—to be filled and a sense that she would remain forever empty.

She could feel her body, aroused even when her mind and heart weren't, producing moisture in the folds Kaddar's fingers were digging through, but she felt none of the spasms of euphoria that she had overheard the scullery maids describe feeling when their lads touched the secret triangles between their legs.

Then Kaddar's fingers were moving out of her, and, then, as a bulge thrust into her, crashing a wall she had never noticed was inside her, there was pain—pain so blinding and raw that screaming and moaning until the end of the world wouldn't release it, so she just bit her lip until it bled, bled in simply with the folds between her legs. Stabs of agony instead of the jolts of ecstasy that should have gone with her first coupling if she really had been allowed to choose her husband and marry for love tore through her. As Kaddar's hot, sweaty chest pounded against her, she thought that she had never been so alone, and, as his release finally filled her, she thought that she had never been so hollow.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Please be warned that this chapter contains adultery, an abortifcent potion, references to suicide, some curse words, and some domestic violence, so don't read this chapter if you don't feel prepared to handle mature topics. Also, on a totally unrelated note, I apologize for my long period of not updating. It was never my intention for my story to go so long unfinished.

"_But he that is an adulterer, the folly of his heart shall destroy his own soul." –Proverbs 6:32, Douay-Rheims Bible. _

Fallen from Grace

The weeks following Kalasin's wedding passed in a blur of heat, blazing sun, and oppressive humidity. All Kalasin wanted to do was sprawl on a bed of cool silk, with as thin fabric as possible covering her body, and her sweaty face cooled by whatever breezes deigned to sweep through the open windows.

She was reclining in such a way on the emperor's bed when her husband, armored and with a silver sword sheathed in a bejeweled scabbard that was affixed to his hip, strode into the chamber with Rijaal following at his heels like a loyal hound dog.

"There is a riot in the city over the price of rice," Kaddar informed her, hurrying forward to plant a swift kiss on her cheek. "I'm riding out to solve the problem and give a solid thrashing to any who insist on violating the peace of my capital. Half a legion will accompany me into the city, which should be a large enough show of force to freeze even the hottest blood, and Rijaal will keep you safe here."

Already turning away from her, he added, "Don't be afraid, my dear. I would stake my life upon Rijaal's faith."

"I can defend myself," Kalasin protested automatically, but, in Carthak, nobody ever listened to her about matters pertaining to her own safety or self-defense capabilities.

"I'm my lady's champion." Rijaal bowed to her and then to Kaddar. "I will die before I see my lady killed, and, if she is killed before I die, I will slay myself in shame for failing you and her."

Opening the door to exit the room, Kaddar tossed over his shoulder, "And leave me to live without you both? You're more my fool than I thought."

Before Rijaal, ever ready with a retort, could respond, Kaddar had disappeared, closing the door firmly behind him, in a martial gleam and clunk of armor.

In the immediate, awkward silence that followed her husband's departure, Kalasin became abruptly aware of the salty dampness that made her silk dress cling to her body, emphasizing every curve. Thinking about curves caused her to realize that her pose on the bed revealed far more of her chest than she typically displayed before anyone but her spouse. Her cheeks, already flushed from the heat, burned, and yet rearranging her gown or her posture seemed like so much work on so hot a day. Far better to lay here, exposed to his gaze, than to move…

"Be calm, my lady," he told her, decanting a bottle of Kaddar's spiced wine and pouring them both a goblet. "Here. This wine will soothe you."

Accepting the chalice, Kalasin took a tentative sip and found that the strange spices she was still getting accustomed to in Carthaki food and beverages danced delightfully in her mouth, and the goblet, which she had thought would be soothingly cool against her flesh, was still warm from his.

Leaning forward, because surely she would feel cooler if more of her sweaty breasts could feel the occasional breezes that streamed through the open windows, Kalasin commented lazily, "They say that a man's friends know more about what he thinks of his wife than she does, so tell me, my dear champion, what does my darling husband think of me?"

"That you are sweeter than jasmine." Rijaal's dark eyes flitted toward her bosom, causing a pleasurable chill that couldn't be blamed on the currently non-existent wind to lace through her chest. Then, he winked, and she couldn't help but smiling even as her cheeks flamed more than ever. "Especially between the bed sheets."

"You jest." Kalasin laughed, even though she knew that she should have slapped him for his bawdy audacity. "I'm spicy, not sweet."

"Perhaps he has confessed that you leave a taste more spicy than sweet on his tongue," Rijaal conceded, sipping from his goblet of wine, and eyeing her pointedly over the rim of his chalice. "What of that, my lady? Some men prefer spicy to sweet."

"Are you such a man?" asked Kalasin, arching an eyebrow.

"I like food that is at once sweet and spicy." Rijaal's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Just sweet women don't appeal to me. Neither do just spicy ones. I need a woman to be the perfect blend of sweetness and spiciness. Out of respect for the female gender and my own dignity, I must judge women more harshly than I do food, or else I would have no taste."

"Have you ever been in love?" she pressed, raising her other eyebrow.

"I? In love?" A pulse leapt wildly on the back of the hand that clutched his goblet. He tried for a roguish smirk. "Every man seeks the woman of his dreams, but I have not been so favored by the Goddess yet."

Yet. The word hit Kalasin like a blow, and she remarked with a touch of asperity, "Maybe you haven't looked carefully enough. How old are you, anyway?"

It was the wrong question. His fists bunched around his chalice, and he drew his spine up haughtily. "I am as old as you need your champion to be."

Staring at the spices swirling around in her wine, Kalasin wondered why she had even bothered to ask the question. If Rijaal was her husband's best friend, he had to be within a few months of Kaddar's age.

"I beg you, my lady, don't doubt my abilities or my faithfulness to you." Rijaal's voice interrupted her thoughts and forced her to lock eyes with him once again. "When a man serves a great lady, he will do more for her glory than he could for himself. This is the highest feeling that men may have. It makes us noble, even though we are made of clay."

"How do you know this?" she whispered, feeling as if she could cry and laugh at the same time.

"Every man knows that his lady will stretch him till he becomes worthy of her." He frowned, his forehead knotting. "Then, with her image etched into his heart forever, he will go forth and do great things. I choose you for my lady, as chivalry dictates. You are bold and valiant, and you are the most fair, so you should be the most beloved. You are the empress-who should I serve but you?"

"Ah, sir." She bowed her head to conceal her face behind her curtain of black hair. "You speak the language of chivalry that any Carthaki lady would be pleased to hear. I am honored to accept your service, and the good that you will do." She felt his nearness like an ache, and the longing to touch him was almost too much to bear. She couldn't stop herself from blurting out, "So much for chivalry- what about earthly love?"

"Earthly love." Rijaal shook his head. "I don't think to be a married man, my lady."

A pang of fury she couldn't comprehend or just refused to understand seized her. "You will never marry, so then, you'll take mistresses?"

"To take my pleasure of women, and then leave them by the wayside?" An ugly red crept up his neck. He hunched his shoulders before straightening his back again. "No, I could not do that. I have taken a vow."

"A vow of celibacy or a vow of chastity only until the woman you desire comes along?" Kalasin clenched her fists, loathing herself for even contemplating, nonetheless saying such things, but still she continued, "You will never marry, Rijaal? Perhaps, but you will have lovers. Women will always desire you. How will it be for you and your vow then? And for me? How will it be for me?"

"Don't tempt me." Rijaal's shaking hand slammed his goblet down on a nearby cypress bureau. "I've sworn never to betray your husband."

"What's the use of a vow if it isn't strong enough to resist temptation?" she asked, pursing her lips as if waiting for a lover's kiss.

"My duty to your husband, my lady, is strong enough to resist any temptation." His face twisted and his body jerked backward, as if he were trying to separate himself from the temptation she embodied, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to take so much as a step away from her, trapped by some primal magnetism deeper than duty and reason that had attracted them to each other since she had stepped onto the Carthaki dock upon her arrival in this foreign land.

"How do you know?" she murmured, reaching out to wrap her hand around his wrist.

"I know." His voice and his eyes lacked conviction, containing only the weakness of a man drowning in love or lust.

The air was sultry, and the tension between them was a thread about to be cut. His eyes were wide with inquiry, and she answered without words. She was instantly in his arms, crushed in his embrace. Their mouths were moving together, drinking one another in even more deeply than their gazes had.

There was, to Kalasin, no past and almost no future; only the now as they fell back on the silken sheets. She could not breathe and did not want to breathe apart from him ever again. Linking her arms around his neck as he grappled her to him with firm hands on her waist and bottom, she returned his wild kisses until his mouth roamed lower, trailing fire down her throat. He pulled her dress off her sweaty skin, kissing and licking the hollows between her breasts.

"This is what I've always wanted from you," he gasped, nipping at her bare shoulder.

"I adore you." That was all Kalasin could manage through the whirlwind of her yearning for him, and when he claimed her on the bed, she welcomed it. She could feel herself growing into the woman she had always dreamed she might become, moving against the man who was all she had ever wanted in a man. Love like this, she thought, must have been the reason why her mother was willing to have so many children.

She was lost to the world in a sea of sweat and silk blankets, and she was only jolted back to reality when the door to the chamber burst open and slammed shut. Knowing that only her husband would dare to burst into the emperor's room like this, and cursing the fact that the Carthaki military never set foot on castle grounds—so there was no thunder of arriving warhorses and no clatter of marching soldiers—to alert her to Kaddar's return before it was too late, Kalasin clasped a sheet to her body, and rolled away from Rijaal, as if that distance now would be enough to atone for their earlier intimacy.

"What is this false modesty?" snarled Kaddar, glaring at Kalasin, as he marched toward the bed. "You needn't be shy about showing your body to Rijaal when you've already given him access to everything. Or are you hiding from me, woman? Are you tryin to conceal the evidence of adultery and betrayal that lies as false as moonlight before my eyes?"

"Don't yell at her, Your Imperial Majesty," Rijaal said before Kalasin could reply, which was just as well, because, while she knew she should stutter out an excuse or an apology, she only felt a defiant lack of shame in for once acting according her desires rather than her duties. "I betrayed you. I dishonored her. I disgraced myself. I will return to my rooms, and slit my own neck as payment for my against against all of our honors."

Kalasin opened her mouth to protest that Rijaal would perpetrate no such violence against himself, but Kaddar, shaking from head to toe with rage or grief, snapped, "Stop speaking nonsense, fool. This isn't Carthak under Ozorne. People won't be bullied by me into committing suicide."

"I've dishonored myself." Rijaal stared down at the cool tile floor covereds by a warm, soft tiger pelt, and Kalasin wondered why men always talked about their honor and never about their love. "Let me die."

"Killing yourself out of shame or self-loathing won't resture your honor, or anyone else's," growled Kaddar, grabbing Rijaal's wrists and piercing his best friend's eyes with his own. "I expect you to restore your honor through obedient, loyal, and valiant service to my throne. To regain my trust in your abilities and to keep you from the temptation that is my wife, you will serve as my new ambassador to Tyra. When I'm convinced of your ability to keep your hands off my wife, you'll return here amidst great fanfare."

"I will endure sleet and snails forever as a diplomat to Tyra if there is a chance doing so will restore my honor and bring me back into your good graces." Rijaal bowed and slipped into his clothing as inconspiciously as possible, and it was that humility from a man who had always been as grandoise of gesture as he could that broke Kalasin's heart, though her spirit remained unshattered.

"Then go." Kaddar's voice trembled as his body did. "You will receive your comission tomorrow at breakfast from one of my servants, and you will sail tomorrow at high tide. I hope we meet again, but not for awhile."

"Your will be done, Your Imperial Majesty." With a final bow, Rijaal ducked out of the room, shutting the door quietly in his wake, and Kalasin knew that—even if the man returned—she would never again see the Rijaal she had loved—or thought she had loved—for such a short time.

"Faithless woman." Kaddar, his hand clenched around his sword hilt, stalked away from her to glower out the window. "He may have fallen, but it's you who pushed him with your beautiful body and honeyed words. You've cost me my best friend. I hope you're happy now that you've done your best, vixen, to destroy him and me."

"Don't blame me for your own stupidity," retorted Kalasin, her cheeks flaming, ready to abuse Kaddar measure for measure. "You cost yourself your own best friend, or have you already conveniently forgotten that it was you who exiled him?"

"Exile is a mercy compared to execution," Kaddar hissed. "Rijaal recognized that, or he will. Only you are ungrateful enough not to appreciate my mercy and charity."

"May the Great Mother Goddess preserve me from mercy like yours." Kalasin flared up, and, as Kaddar swept over to his burea, and rummaged around in a gilded box with his back to her, she felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. "And charity is none if it expects thanks or praise."

"The adultress will now lecture her wronged husband about virtue." His mouth twisting bitterly, Kaddar spun on his heel, a vial filled with some vile brew in his hands. "I enjoy irony as much as an emperor can, but that is too much for me, madam."

Stepping forward and thrusting the container between her fingers, he commanded icily, "Drink."

"I may not have been in Carthak long, but even I know enough not to drink poison," answered Kalasin coldly, staring boldly into her husband's irate, dark eyes.

"I'm not going to poison you, dear." With enough exaggerated tenderness to turn Kalasin's skin into gooseflesh, her husband stroked her cheek. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have already risked war by thrusting my sword into your treacherous heart, but I don't want to kill you, faithless though you are. You are my wife and my empress. Your strength and beauty have already convinced me that you have the potential to be as good an empress for me as your mother is a queen for your father. I also happen to hope that you will inherit your mother's fecundity. To give birth to six healthy children without any complications at all—why, that's quite a feat—and they say that fertility is an inherited trait like hair color or eye color. I should like to have many children, darling, as long as I could be certain that they were, in fact, my heirs, and that is what I intend to do with this potion. The liquid in that vial won't hurt you, but it will destroy any life that might have taken to your womb while you were rutting like a rabbit with Rijaal."

"You're as horrid as your uncle," Kalasin snapped, and, because, in his cold wrath with his cunning eyes, he did look terribly like she had imagined Ozorne in her nightmares, she flung the vial at the floor, so that the potion spattered onto her and Kaddar's legs. Wondering how she could ever have doubted her ability to love any child she conceived when she thought about how Rijaal's baby might kick against her womb or might have a heartbeat thudding away inside her as a reminder of everything she had ever loved and lost, she continued sharply, "I won't sacrifice any baby on the altar of parents' sins, and if you loved Rijaal, you wouldn't even think about killing any child he might have conceived."

"I have a whole country to think of, you bitch." Yanking his palm abruptly away from her face as if that was the only way he could restrain himself from backhanding her, Kaddar folded his arms across his chest. "And you are useless to me if you don't provide me with legitimate heirs."

"You bastard." Forgetting that she was naked under the silk sheets, Kalasin lurched to her feet and smacked her husband's cheek as hard as she could. The sound of her flesh punishing his wasn't as loud or as satisfying as she had hoped, and she drew her hand back to attack him again, but his shot out swifter than a serpent and grasped her wrist tightly.

"Hit me again, and I'll strike you back," hissed Kaddar, pulling her against him, and when she felt her hot body smash against his cold armor, she remembered that she was naked. "And my dear mother is not a whore. She has been a loyal wife to my father since the day they were married."

He seemed to realize that she was naked, too, because the hand that wasn't holding her wrist, slid down to cup her breast, and, his tone husky, he asked, "Why do you hate me so much, Kally? Wasn't I as gentle as I could be on our wedding night? Didn't I try to pleasure you and everything?"

"I can't control whom I fall in love with," Kalasin replied, hating her nipples for betraying her and hardening when Kaddar stroked them.

"Nobody of rank marries for love." Kaddar bit her ear, and Kalasin gasped in a mixture of surprise and pain. "That doesn't all those women who don't marry for love can cheat on their husbands."

"The reason I hate you and cheated on you was because you never treat me like an equal," Kalasin burst out, shoving his hand away from her breast. "You think I need to be protected when I can defend myself, and you acted like I was some golden prize you earned when your people cheered after you married me, and you kissed me like I belonged to you."

"Now that we're married, we're supposed to belong to each other." Kaddar's lips brushed across her forehead. "Now that you're the Empress of Carthak, my people are supposed to be _our_ people. I thought you knew that. I thought that you understood that I wanted a woman fit to be my partner in every sense of the word, not another golder trophy, when I already have enough gold to fill several palaces."

Fire burned through Kalasin's veins at his words. He was everything she had ever really wanted in a husband, then. He was handsome, strong, clever, and blessed with a dry wit. He wasn't perfect, and he was far more conservative than her, but she didn't want perfection; she wanted partnership and she was ready to believe that he had always been willing to extend that to her. The princess had married the Emperor, and she would live in his palace with a chance at makig her own happiness with him. What more, she asked herself, could any inhabitant of the real world desire for herself?

"Of course," Kaddar added with more than a little mischief lacing his tone, and, because he must have felt her body relaxing against him at last, he released her wrist, and the fingers that had held her arm so tightly drifted down to caress the tender folds of the triangle between her legs. "Sometimes being my partner will mean that you'll have to go beneath me."

"Beneath you, my lord?" Deftly twisting away from him, Kalasin flopped back on the bed, and arched an eyebrow. "You'll have to show me what you mean by that."


End file.
